30 Day OTP Music Challenge
by PrepareToBeMildlyEntertained
Summary: 30-part series. Each part is inspired by a different song, chosen at random by putting my iTunes on shuffle. Each day has a slightly different feel, but always around Dean and Cas. No AUs, just some good, strong Dean/Cas loving. Ratings will go up, and will be updated as chapters are added.
1. Hells Bells

_"I'll give you black sensations up and down your spine_

_If you're into evil you're a friend of mine._

_See the white light flashing as I split the night_

_'cause if God's on the left then I'm sticking to the right."_

_**-Hells Bells, AC/DC**_

Things chill out after the world decides to keep on spinning. Less evil shit. Not no evil shit, but less. Which means Sammy backing off to live his life and Dean continuing to clean up after the things that go bump in the night with Cas by his side.

The Impala cuts across the desert, blaring sun reflecting bright and hot off of the hood. Dust shoots out from under the car, rocks rubbing fast against the black of the wheels. Cas sits in the front seat, looking like a real hunter in jeans and a loose T-shirt, any layers taken off long before they reached the middle of Texas and the hottest fucking drive of Dean's life. Sweat beads and drips off of both of their foreheads as the trip goes on.

Throughout the ride, music plays. Sometimes dim, to allow for conversation, sometimes loud so Dean can pretend he can sing. Cas does not have a preference. He loves talking to Dean, trying to understand him more and more every day. He also loves watching Dean grin as he belts out slightly off-key renditions of any given song he plays from one of his tapes or the radio.

They haven't seen another car in hours. Dean likes it that way. He speeds down the asphalt at a breakneck pace despite the fact that they have no particular case that means life or limb for some poor sap. Dean just likes how the wind blows through the windows, cooling him and Cas down. Plus, Cas's face is just fucking hysterical when the breeze gets too hard and his hair is forced into an even more ridiculous state of disarray.

A song comes on that Dean loves and he leans over to crank the volume dial, already using his other hand to slap out the beat loudly on the steering wheel's super-heated surface. Cas smiles slightly, staring straight ahead, as Dean attempts to sing. The hunter nods viciously to the beat, screaming out some of the lyrics as the singer does. Cas knows this song, vaguely. He has heard it one of a thousand times he has sat in this car, sat in this passenger seat, and listened as Dean actually enjoyed something in his life.

This time, the former angel listens to the lyrics as Dean "sings" them (he adds the quotation marks he knows Dean would tease him about within his own mind). There are words about Hell, about being on the wrong side of God, about power and death. It seems a fairly dim set of subjects despite the obvious upbeat nature of the song. Cas voices this out loud (at a bit of a yell to be heard over the radio) and Dean just breaks into laughter. It is Cas's favorite noise in the world, Dean's full-bellied laughter.

"Cas, it's supposed to get you pumped and pissed," he chuckles out, leaning over to turn down the dial and allow for more conversation. He doesn't complain about the interruption. One of his arms rests against the opened window of the car, light catching the soft, honey-colored fuzz along his arms.

"Why sing about Hell this way, though? I know you don't feel positively about your experiences there," Cas replies. Dean's smile dims slightly and he clears his throat.

"No, I don't feel 'positively' about those experiences," Cas hears the implied quotation marks and squints his eyes. So it's fine when Dean does that but not him? The double standard is alarming and must be repaired at their soonest possible convenience. Perhaps after this current conversation concludes.

"So why sing in such a manner about a serious subject?" It is Cas's earnest face, eager for understanding, and the way his tousled hair is sticking hot to his forehead that makes Dean answer honestly instead of blowing it off.

"Music gets you through whatever, buddy," Dean says, shrugging like these are the honest truths of life. "It's fast, it's slow, it's about whatever is bugging you deep down in your soul, and it makes you get over whatever shit you've been cramming down there. It's like cheap fucking therapy, basically."

"I thought you hated the concept of therapy…"

"Off topic, Cas!" Dean shakes his head, but he's smiling bright again. They are still hours from their destination. "Music is for every time, anytime you need it. Even if it means singing loud about the sad shit." Cas nods slowly then looks thoughtfully out the window to his right. Another song comes on and Dean turns it up but instead of returning his hand to the wheel, he uses the arm currently resting on the door to take control of the car, and grabs for Cas's hand with the other.

It's sweaty, far too hot to be holding hands, but Cas glances down and smiles. Squeezes Dean's hand a little tighter. Dean gives him a grin that involves biting his bottom lip, scrunching up his nose, and nodding his head hard to the song. Cas chuckles. He didn't usually pay attention to the words of Dean's music, or any music for that matter, but maybe from today onward he just might have to make an effort. Music did seem to be the backdrop of Dean's life, after all. Which meant it would just have to be the backdrop of his as well.


	2. My Medicine

_"____I'll drink what you leak_

___And I'll smoke what you sigh_

___Straight across the room with a look in your eye._

___I got a man to the left and a girl to the right_

___Start to sweat so hold me tight."_

___******-My Medicine, The Pretty Reckless**_

Dean burst into the cabin with impressive force, considering he was just shoving his way past hanging beads that made up half a door. Cas sat on the floor, head tilted in the same way it always used to, only now it was so horribly different. Disjointed. Lazy instead of confused.

The cabin was in a slight haze of smoke. Cas's eyes were closed but he pulled back his lips to form a scary open-wide grin of teeth and maliced indifference.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of being greeted an audience with Our Fearless Leader?" Cas slurred. He was smoking. What he smoked these days Dean didn't know. Didn't bother asking. It made Cas good and fucked up, but that was also the influence of whatever pills he was currently downing. Again, god knows what. Or where he was even getting them from.

"You're acting even more fucked up than usual. For him." Dean doesn't mean to add it but he does. His other self, being entertained by a couple of camp fighters a few cabins over. His other self that still seemed to give a bit of a shit. Cas opened his eyes to reveal his glazed-over baby blues.

"I like past you," he said, husky and deep. Sexy. He pulled a cigarette from nowhere and took a long draw, then blew out the smoke. He smiled again and stood.

"Past me doesn't know shit and you're screwing with him. Stop. That's it." Dean made a move to leave but Cas's empty chuckle stopped him. Chilled him deep the way it always did when Cas chuckled like that. His shoulders stiffened.

"Jealous of yourself, Dean? I should have figured," he chucked again. That surface chuckle that came off bone dry.

"Fuck off, Cas," Dean said, again moving to leave.

"And here I was thinking you'd come in here to give me your great 'last night on earth' speech. Silly me. Must be the influence of the… em…" Cas faded off, squinted like he was trying to remember, then shrugged it off. Took another drag of his cigarette. Dean's shoulders fall slightly.

"You know we aren't coming back tomorrow?" he asked. Cas let the question sit for a while. Hell, he practically invited the question to take a seat on his throw rug and get high, just chill out for a while. Finally he answered.

"I know _I'm_ not coming back, at the very least," he said. "And I know how fond you are of 'last nights'. You can get away with anything." Without warning,0 Cas was much closer than before, hot body against Dean's back. He breathed smoke into Dean's ear as he spoke.

"What do you think, Dean?" he said, breathy but controlled. "Last night on earth?" And then Dean was on him. He flipped around quickly and kissed Cas hard, angry. It was bruising and wet and smokey, Cas's cigarette air breathed into Dean's lungs. Dean shoved Cas hard, walking them back across the room until he could force Cas up against a wall. Cas grinned into Dean's kiss.

"Fuck me, Winchester," he whispered into Dean's hungry mouth. Dean growled and threw Cas down on the bed. He shoved the length of his body hard against the former angel, their bodies smashing and hurting in all the wrong ways, but enough of the right ones too.

Cas flicked his cigarette from his hand carelessly and reached around to grab into Dean's back. He scratched at Dean until he could get a good hold on the material of his shirt and then ripped, tearing the fabric. Dean licked hard into Cas's mouth and then withdrew, shucking off his torn shirt and then his jeans, releasing the growing hardness beneath.

"My favorite shirt," he muttered as he grabbed onto Cas's pants and ripped them off in one go. There is a slight advantage in yoga pants, Dean had to note, though not for the first time.

"Last night on earth," Cas reminded him, bucking up, hard and fast. Dean grinned until they were both smiling and it all meant nothing.

He fell back on Cas, their hard dicks rubbing up against each other with exquisite friction. Dean sucked wet kisses into the planes of Cas's hips, knowing they would leave marks. Wanting to leave more. Cas grabbed onto Dean's hair roughly and pulled him back up so they were looking at each other. Dean breathed hard. Cas grinned, blew a smoky breath Dean's way, and spoke in that husky way Dean still kind of loved, even after their everything else had faded.

"I said, 'fuck me, Winchester'. Fuck me like it's my last night on earth. 'Cause it is." Dean was more than happy to oblige. He found the lube in the same place in Cas's drawer it had always been kept and ignored the thong that was tucked next to it, purple and reeking of someone else.

He loosened Cas up quick, too fast, and then replaced his slippery fingers with his hard erection, pushing deep into Cas. Cas groaned and gripped Dean's shoulders and shoved, moving Dean further in.

Dean fucked him deep and hard, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in. The kind of fucking that made you ache for days, deep down in places you didn't know could hurt, and you couldn't ever quite get it out of your mind. Deep and steady, but fast. He rode Cas for all he was worth. One of Cas's hands was on his own dick and he grinned wide when they came together, orgasming like a car crash, and Dean collapsed hard on top of Cas's super-heated body.

He sucked a last kiss into Cas's clavicle and he tasted like salty sweat and sex and smoke. He smelled like those old bars Dean used to spend time in, like whisky and emptiness. The warm smell of incense flowed around them also, almost fog-like in thickness. After a few minutes of deep breathing, Dean rolled off of Cas. Laid on the bed for a minute, then stood up to start putting his clothes back on.

"You don't have a shirt," Cas said, not sitting up from the bed. He was laid out, naked and slick, across the quilt.

"I'll grab one of yours."

"People will know you've been here," Cas said, voice too well-fucked to sound quite like the 13-year-old taunting tone he assumed Cas was going for. Dean huffed and grabbed the least yoga, drugged-out, hippie-esque shirt of Cas's he could find and pulled it on.

"Let them talk," he said. "Last night on earth, remember?" He flashed a smile, the likes of which Cas hadn't seen on Dean's face in years, and left the cabin through the bead door backwards without another word.

"Last night on earth," Cas repeated to himself softly. He went to the floor, still sticky and naked, and pulled up a board to reveal a bottle of Jack Daniels. Cas sat back on the bed with the bottle and took a long swig, coughing and wincing.

Might as well enjoy it.


	3. Mr Polite

_"There's a little place near here_

_I like to go and see the sky is clear._

_Well you can come with me and tell me that I am the only one you don't fear."_

**_-Mr. Polite, The Jungle Giants_**

Over the years, they'd been on their fair share of dates. Anywhere they could go that didn't involve their stale, dirty motel room or anything of the exclusively evil persuasion. Dean wasn't exactly what you'd call smooth. He played it confident but most of the time with Cas he was nervous as hell. Which Cas thought was adorable.

One time they'd driven out to a lake about an hour from their current case and just sat on the hood of the car. It was dark and perfect, stars glinting off the water. Dean had run around the car to open Cas's door for him. This suave little move led to Dean tripping twice, falling on his ass once, and smacking his head painfully on the Impala's door. Cas had utterly failed at avoiding laughing.

There was the time, the first time Dean had ever cooked anything for Cas, at the bunker. He had been preparing fajitas, which Cas was aware of as a concept but had never personally tasted. Sam had been sent to study at the library for the night. Dean managed to set fire to two dishrags and, in putting the flames out, smashed multiple plates to pieces on the floor. The broken shards were surrounded by sour cream, lettuce, cheese, and red peppers, which Cas thought smelled amazing, at the very least.

Cas had laughed then, too, though not as hard as Sam did when the story was related to him.

Cas's favorite, though, would always be their first date, back in 2009 when the world was all falling apart but Dean still took time to take Cas out to dinner. As Cas was told, the date idea had been Sam's…

"Dean, just take the guy out for dinner," Sam shouted, throwing his arms out to the sides. Dean moved slowly, turning off the TV and standing to look at his brother.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding strangled.

"Look, just take Cas out to dinner like a normal person and stop sneaking around like you fucking an angel is an international secret." Dean's eyes bulged. He couldn't quite move. Or form coherent thoughts.

"What?" he repeated, his voice higher than before. Sam rolled his eyes, pulled off a suitably bitchy expression, and walked up to Dean, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I know about you and Cas. Dean, the whole _world_ knows about you and Cas. Take him to dinner and get over your weird freak out. Alright?" Dean swallowed and nodded. Sam smiled. Then things got interesting.

It took Dean a full 15 minutes of stumbled conversation for Cas to understand what he was asking. The angel squinted up his eyes.

"You want to go out to eat with me? As part of a romantic exercise?" he asked. Dean's body collapsed on itself.

"You don't want to," he said, like it was a fact he was confirming.

"On the contrary," Cas said and stood up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed. He got up in Dean's personal space, still stiff as a board because he really hadn't learned to chill out yet. "I would very much enjoy it."

So they went out to dinner. First Dean tried to get a nice reservation, which failed. Dean blamed the 'walking, wallet-shaped douchebags' for that failure. Cas never did get the full story.

Then there was the diner, covered in red vinyl and that faux-50s aesthetic so many of them shared. Cas had removed the trenchcoat at Dean's request. It was going well, as far as Cas could tell, although Dean was twitchy. Their waiter was a boy of about 15 in a white uniform with an apron and a pocket that had Dina's Diner stitched on in red thread.

Their food came, still no incident, although it was very quiet. Dean didn't seem to know what to talk about. He munched on his burger in huge bites as Cas considered him.

"Dean," he began. Dean looked up at him, mouth still full of burger. A bit of lettuce fell out and back onto his plate. "Why did you invite me to dinner when I don't consume food?" Cas meant it as more of a general I-still-don't-get-humans kind of question, but Dean didn't quite take it that way. He swallowed thickly, all at once, and looked down.

"If you didn't want to come, you should have just been straight with me," he said. Cas attempted to correct him.

"Dean-"

"You know what? Fine! Let's leave!" Dean stood abruptly, knocking into a waitress and sending her tumbling, along with her tray of food.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," Dean leaned over to help her up and tripped over his chair, which landed him on top of the overturned waitress, who cried out pitifully.

"Hey, get off of her!" Someone shouted. Then it got a bit hard to follow.

There was yelling, people splattered with food, and a few punches thrown. Ultimately, it ended with Dean and Cas out on the corner in front of the diner, both permanently banned from any future entry.

"You can leave now. If you want," Dean said, stiff. He kicked an invisible rock from the concrete.

"I don't," Cas said. Dean looked at him. "Want to leave, that is. I would like to stay with you."

"Really? Even after I totally fucked up dinner?"

"That man should not have hit you," Cas said, overly serious. "Also, their fries were terrible, which wasn't your fault at all." Dean chuckled a bit at that, which cheered Cas. They were both silent for a while until a waiter from the diner went to the window to glare at them fiercely.

"Let's split," Dean muttered. They both wandered away from the diner, but not towards the Impala. They just wandered.

"So, what _do_ you want to do then, Chuckles?" Dean asked. Cas considered the darkened street before them. Little shops were still open here and there, their lighted windows splattering a yellow glow down the whole road.

"Perhaps… we could just walk together?" Cas asked, cautious. A half-there smile flickered across Dean's lips.

"Yeah, ok. Let's just walk." And they did. Down one street, onto the next, and on and on. They talked. Cas got Dean to laugh loudly once or twice, and Dean nudged more than one smile onto Cas's face. And through it all, Cas occasionally glanced down, just to catch sight of their hands linked together.

That would always be his favorite date of theirs. Although the carnival one was a great story too...

* * *

**AN: Don't be afraid to leave a comment of hit the little "favorite" button up there so I know it's cool to keep going. Thanks for reading!**


	4. San Francisco

_"I've been in love with love_

_And the idea of something, binding us together_

_You know that love is strong enough."_

_-**San Francisco, The Mowgli's**_

The day had come. First Sunday of the month. It was finally here again. Dean had no godly clue where the tradition had begun, but he wasn't going to ruin the whole thing with a dumbass question like that. The day had come around again, and that was that.

Pie Day.

If Dean could have envisioned a perfect day, where all of his favorite things came together in a symbol of perfect harmony and light, this would have been it. Cas and him both cooked - Cas was actually getting damn good at the whole baking thing - and Sam generally stuck around in one corner or another in the kitchen reading. He liked how happy everyone was, Dean assumed. He would bolt, however, the minute Dean or Cas made a move on one another. Which, to be honest, happened a lot.

Hey, how was Dean supposed to resist when Cas smelled like apples and home and had dabs of flour on his nose? Dean wasn't usually down with the word 'cute' but there was no other word to describe him. Except perhaps _absolutelyfuckingadorable_.

Cas was even more difficult to resist if he got filling on his face. Strawberry, cherry, whatever. What other choice did Dean have than to clean him up? With a bit of tongue, usually…

Ok so maybe Cas got messy on purpose. Again, no way in hell Dean was going to ruin it now. No way.

And now the day, the most blessed of days, was here once again. Breakfast was perfect - Dean made it so he should know - and then everything was cleaned. Time for pie.

Cas gave Dean a barely there smile as he washed his hands. Dean glanced over at Sam, face down turned reading, and scooted in behind the angel, wrapping his arms around him so they were both washing their hands at once. Dean leaned down to put his chin on Cas's shoulder.

"You smell nice," he muttered. Cas smiled again, almost shutting down a grin. Sam cleared his throat.

"You two want to contaminate these pies in private?" he asked, a half smirk resting on his lips. Dean raised a smarmy eyebrow and kissed Cas's neck.

"Dean," Cas admonished. Sam stood up to leave.

"Alright, fine," Dean said. He backed off Cas and wiped his hands on his own jeans (a very different place than he had originally planned on) and held them up in surrender. "No need to act like a protective, high school dance chaperon there, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

Cas laid out all the ingredients, which looked to involve 5 separate flavors of filling. Dean's knees felt a little weak. Had he mentioned this was _the greatest tradition of all time?_ Dean skittered around the room preheating ovens, clicking the little dials over to 425° and feeling the heat increase in the kitchen before he was even done.

Cas placed saucepans out on the oven top and lit the burners, making flames flicker to life. Dean walked past adding chunks of butter to the pans as he went. The smell of melting butter was the greatest smell in the world. It never smelled quite like the cheap movie theater stuff, more like… It smelled like normalcy and sunshine and like Mrs. Carol Brady herself was working in the kitchen alongside them. It was a bone-achingly domestic smell and Dean Ate. It. Up.

Cas pulled the pie crust from the fridge where he had placed it the night before and went to his favorite spot in the kitchen to roll it out. Dean kept an eye on the butter while Cas put a thin layer of flour on the counter to prevent any sticking dough. He loved watching Cas roll dough. It was so thoroughly unerotic, and yet it wasn't.

He leaned on the roller heavily, using battle-hardened muscles to spread the dough all evenly flat. Sam had flicked on the radio at some point so music played softly. Dean was still watching Cas (totally not with a dreamlike, how-can-life-possibly-get-better face) when a handful of flour came out of nowhere and exploded across his nose and upper lip.

Dean shrieked (YELLED. Like a **MAN**.) and dropped his wooden spoon on the floor. He sneezed violently, shooting out flour from his nose, and leaned back up to look at Cas with a completely mystified expression. Cas looked smug as hell, hand still pure white from the fistful of flour.

"What the fuck?" Dean demanded. Sam glanced up from his book, caught sight of his brother, and promptly dropped the book as he burst into laughter.

"Dude," Sam got out, between gasping breaths. "He _nailed_ you." Dean glared at him.

"Every night, sailor," Dean winked. Sam sobered up and coughed, instantly uncomfortable. "What the fuck was that for?" he addressed Cas instead.

"You were leering at me," he said. Sam put a hand to his mouth to stop the sputtering laughter from being too loud.

"Was not," Dean said, indignant.

"You were too," Cas said. The tips of his mouth were threatening to upturn.

"So you throw flour at me?!"

"It worked, didn't it?" Dean huffed an incredulous, high-pitched laugh.

"Alright then, Angel Boy. It's on," at the last word, Dean finally grabbed hold of the bowl of sugar he had been reaching for and tossed the contents Cas's way. The white sprinkles were a dead hit, smacking into Cas's forehead and sprinkling his hair to the point it looked like dandruff.

Sam's eyes were wide and cautious now, glancing between them like he knew all hell was about to break loose.

"Prepare for war, Winchester," Cas said solemnly. And lept forward to dump strawberry syrup down Dean's front. Dean shoved Cas back and, while being pelted by blueberries from behind, found the eggs. He whipped around, shoved Cas again, throwing off his balance, and smashed the eggs together over his head, drenching Cas in sticky yellow goo.

"Uh, guys?" Sam's voice was a distant, background noise as Cas dumped cocoa powder towards Dean, who responded with a heartfelt squirt of whipped cream.

"Guys, stop," Sam's voice, a little louder. Dean laughed loudly as he found a lukewarm cup of melted butter and got to knock Cas down, pouring it all over his shirt and neck.

"Dean," Cas grunted, pinned down, "get off." Dean leaned in close. Cas smelled gloriously like Pie Day.

"Does this mean I win?" he asked, voice low as he moved in on Cas. Sam cleared his throat again, sounding desperate. Cas raised an eyebrow and, never looking from Dean, lifted a finger and put it into his mouth, slowly drawing it out as he cleaned off the mix of butter and chocolate. Dean's breath shuddered to a stop. He cleared his throat - lots of that going around - and stood up shakily. Cas smiled, self-satisfied little shit, and stood next.

Then Dean turned to Sam, who was frozen with a horrified expression on his face.

"I. It wasn't. You. I." he stammered. He nearly took off running, but found enough self control to turn briskly and walk out at a normal pace. Dean grinned after him, shaking his head.

"Now, where were we?" he asked. He turned around and saw Cas holding a bag of flour, which was honestly terrifying. He held his hands out in front of him defensively.

"You know," Cas began, "Sam seems to have escaped without a single baking essential anywhere on himself." Dean processed this slowly, then dropped his hands, terrified face morphing into a grin. He grabbed a carton of eggs from the counter next to him.  
"Oh, Saaaammmyyy," he called, sing-songy. "Where aaare you, Saaammy?" He turned his grin to Cas, who returned the look, then then both took off running down the hall where Sam had fled.

Yeah, Pie Day was the best.


	5. Take It Off

_"Now we're getting so smashed._

_Knocking over trash cans._

_Everybody breakin' bottles_

_It's a filthy hot mess."_

_-**Take It Off, Ke$ha**_

Dean was drunk. Dean was really, really drunk. And there'd been a quicky back in the motel room with Cas before they'd even gotten there, so he was in a good mood too. Happy drunk Dean was a rarity in itself. Rarer, up to that point, was him openly displaying any kind of affection. Well, except for the eye fucking. After that night? Things were slightly different.

The club was loud, big bass sounds making the heart in Cas's chest pump violently along with the beat. It was also dark, lots of neon glow being the main source of light. The drinks that were handed out were colorfully bright and glitter covered the sticky floors thickly. It was sweaty and hot and Cas was feeling not totally in control. He thought maybe something extra had been slipped into his drink at some point, but wasn't really sure. The colors got brighter, though, and the music much louder.

Dean dumped another drink down his throat, something that looked vaguely green. A girl a few feet away from the bar wore a short skirt that looked to be made of leather. She was grinding fiercely against a tall man behind her who had spiked up hair and dark eyeliner.

Dean shoved a purple drink in front of him and Cas drank it eagerly. The purple ones tasted very good. Dean was wearing just his jeans, which hung low on his hips, and a loose, gray T-shirt. No jacket, no other outer layers. And he had managed to get Cas in a similar state of attire. Cas still thought they seemed… over-dressed for the place. But he loved the opportunity it gave him to look at Dean's arms. They were really good arms.

Another song came on, bass beating even harder, shaking Cas's bones. Things were slightly blurry. Colorful. Sparkling. He was smiling and didn't know why. His foot was tapping absently.

"Hey," Dean leaned in close as he spoke, hot breath leaving condensation across his already warm skin. He smelled like booze and cheap cologne. His whole body was angled towards Cas, abstractedly touching him and bleeding heat. "You wanna dance?"

Dean's words were horribly slurred. Cas looked back at the woman in the skirt who was now dancing draped across the man's front, looking close enough that they almost seemed to melt together. Cas nodded.

"Yes," he added, just in case. Dean smiled wolfishly and grabbed another shot, dumping it back.

"For luck," he said. Cas smiled, feeling tingly and bright. Like he was actually shooting light from his fingertips. Dean grabbed his hand and dragged him to the center of the floor. Bodies writhed around them, sweaty and close. The air was thicker. Cas didn't entirely know what to do, leaving the leading up to Dean. His limbs felt looser and they ached to be moving.

Dean reached forward around Cas, grabbing his ass and pulling him forward so they were chest to chest, leg to leg. He grinned at Cas again and rolled his body to the music, pulling Cas with him. Yes, Cas could get involved in this. Perhaps not without copious alcohol in his system, but that was definitely not the situation at hand.

The two gyrated together to the beat. Cas looped his arms around Dean and entangled his hands in the hunter's hair. Dean pushed them in one direction, hips swearing and meeting back up with Cas's. Their faces got closer and closer, breathing hard. Sweat pooled everywhere and even the colors started to feel heavy. When the beat to one song faded out and into another, faster one, Dean made his move. He shoved one leg forward, between Cas's, so their thighs were interlocked. There was no moving across the floor now, just their bodies moving together.

Cas felt like they were the only two in there, despite the fact that he was physically aware of another person shoving up against his back. Dean's knee between his own gave Cas the confidence to grab onto Dean's hair with more strength and pull his head right in close, so they were breathing each other's air.

Dean's left eyebrow raised slightly, that expression he pulled when he wanted something and knew he was going to get it. Cas made him wait. The hot exchange of air made his jeans pull slightly tight, and he could feel Dean's similar reaction.

When he closed the distance, Cas went tongue first, licking his way into Dean's mouth with verve. The kiss was filthy, hot, clumsy, and mostly open-mouthed. They were shoved against each other tight on all sides, hard muscle and loose hips. Cas kissed Dean until he knew there were bruises and then kissed him harder. Teeth knocked together painfully, and Cas's tongue went back far into Dean's mouth.

Finally, he used his hold on Dean's hair to pull him back with a painful yank. Dean barely winced, just smiled, open-mouthed, and ran a tongue around his lips. Cas got harder. He pulled their faces in together again.

"Car," he said, "now." Dean closed the gap, kissing Cas on the lips once more, then leaning past to lick up the side of his ear and then nibble at the lobe. Cas leaned his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Car," Dean breathed, hot air, into Cas's ear. He leaned away suddenly and grabbed Cas's hand, leading them through the crowd to go out the same way he had led them in. The music pulsed loudly still, and no one looked out after them, just pushed in on the empty space they had created by their absence.

And after Dean found out how good Cas was at cramped car sex? The way he fucked Dean until he felt it deep and low, windows fogging and bodies intertwining? After that, Dean never hesitated to kiss Cas wherever and whenever he wanted. Screw inappropriate time or place. Screw it all so Cas could fuck him like that, dirty and hard. On and on. With bass pumping in the background and multicolored drinks in their stomachs. Sweat and spirits and sin.


	6. Breathe Me

_"Help I have done it again._

_I have been here many times before._

_Hurt myself again today._

_And the worst part is there's no one else to blame."_

**_-Breathe Me, Sia_**

Dean's heart burns, burns hot until it blisters and scabs and burns hotter still. How it always comes to this he has no real idea. Everytime they pull each other out of the ashes enough for a chance at happiness, it all collapses again. Like building a house slowly, beam by beam, and then watching the wood splinter and crackle, eaten up by red and orange flames.

He paces Bobby's floor, hearing the creaks in all the familiar places. Groaning planks thinning in age. And Cas isn't here to tell him to sit on the lumpy couch and just _breathe_ for a while. Let the dusty air do its calming work instead of pacing canyons into the wooden flooring.

The moon shines through the windows, tossing odd shadows across the room through wards and sigils painted in with blood and tears and whisky. Not that any number of criss-crossing lines would keep Cas out now. Not while he strides oceans and traces continents as their new God.

Dean's face falls into his hands as the agony pulses through his veins again like being stabbed slowly, over hours at a time. Icy blade sinking into flesh, cutting out everything that matters until copper blood and never ending blackness remain.

A crash shakes him slightly, sounding like someone has thrown a rock through plate glass. Maybe Bobby or Sam. He doesn't want them to see him like this - nothing but a fraying knot and empty bottles. He is supposed to be strong, the unbreakable one that holds them all together fast, but caring has made him weak. What would his father say if he could see him now? This line of thought is interrupted.

"Dean," a voice says, shooting sparkling electricity down Dean's arms in a bursting flare. He turns slowly, the world creaking to a stop around him.

"Cas," he breathes when he does finish turning and his eyes confirm what he refused to believe his ears were telling him. The angel stands slumped over, practically falling down. His hair is flecked with broken glass and maroon blood. Even tendrils of black ichor trail down in lines across the strong bones of his face.

"I…" Cas pauses, looking like a lost child. "I need your help." Dean's knees feel weak. Everything about this Cas feels authentic. Every muscle shift, eye twitch, word. Every sign screams out that this is the man Dean loves. But how can he believe it now? How can he, when the person who stands in front of him also burned cities to the ground, slaughtered thousands upon thousands of innocents, and left nothing but the god-fearing masses in his wake? His breath must smell like blood. But Dean wants so strongly to trust in what he feels.

"I am sorry," Cas says. He nearly stumbles again. His eyes plead. "What I have done is beyond the forgiveness of any creature. And my betrayal to you. It is. It is unthinkable. I don't ask your forgiveness when I know I have no right to it. But I need your help before my actions, my _foolish, selfish_ actions, lead to even greater ruin than they have already wrought." He cries out suddenly, hands going to his stomach. Blood spills from his hairline and the buds of his fingernails and blackness oozes from the corners of his eyes. Dean takes a step forward, then stops himself.

"How can I even know who you are anymore, Cas? A vengeful angel? An even more vengeful God?" Cas looks up to him, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting to a spackling of red.

"I am a creature of penance," he says. "And I refuse to cause any more death." The trenchcoat he wears is ripped and covered in innumerable stains. He has not given care to his looks in a very long time. This is not the immaculate God that once threatened him. But it is the way he phrases what he says, something about the look in his eyes, and Dean sees him. The angel in a trenchcoat he fell for, and who fell for him in every conceivable way, made of lightning and ocean spray.

Dean crosses the rest of the floor, hesitates for only a moment, then reaches his hands out to grasp both of Cas's shoulders, holding him up. Cas closes his eyes, basking in the touch. He looks like he could give in at any moment, now that he has felt Dean's hands supporting him one last time.

Dean takes in Cas's condition from a closer range. There is no way to deny the angel won't survive. He is coming apart at his very seams. His skin is melting away as he stands. It hurts to see, hurts deep in Dean's gut. He pushes down the urge to vomit at the sight.

"You dumb bastard," he says in a whisper. He uses one hand to reach up and cup Cas's cheek, rubbing his skin with a wandering thumb. "When we get you back to yourself, I'm going to kick your fucking ass." Cas doesn't correct him, though they both know Dean will never get the chance. If Dean thought these were anything but his final moments, they both know Dean would be throwing punches until his knuckles bled and his bones ripped through his skin.

"Thank you," Cas says, opening his eyes to look down at Dean. Cas absorbs the face in front of him like a sponge, soaking in every inch in his mind so he won't forget a single freckle. As if forgetting was every a possibility.

"Thank you for coming back," Dean says. Rain explodes on rooftops, and stars burst, and waves crash, and Dean holds Cas in his arms while he still can. Light shines all around them through the dark night, and actions say what neither man can bring himself to put into words. _Goodbye._


	7. Tokyo (Vampires & Wolves)

_"__The grass will be greener on the other side_

_And the Vampires and Wolves_

_Won't sink their teeth._

_I'm sick of dancing with the beast."_

**_-Tokyo (Vampires & Wolves), The Wombats_**

When Cas truly fell, becoming entirely human and coming to live at the bunker, things were somewhat tense. It wasn't that Dean didn't want him there, or Sam. Both were enthusiastic hosts. Really, it might have been that they were _too_ enthusiastic.

Thing was, without as many baddies in the world, free time was frighteningly abundant. The concept of free time, for Dean, was impossible to process. Stick a vampire in front of him, no problem. A ghost? Done. The devil? Have it taken care of by the end of the week. But hours of nothing to do? That was shudder-worthy. So he filled his time with teaching Cas every conceivable way to pass time in the bunker.

First, there were movie marathons. So many Sam's eyes wanted to bleed and every line spoken aloud by Team Free Will for a week was a quote from _something_.

"I'll have what he's having."

"As you wish."

"In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it."

"May the force be with you."

"Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory."

You get the picture. Then came the days of the TV binging. The three watched, in their entirety (or, at least as much as was currently available in the world), _Breaking Bad, Dexter, The X Files, Star Trek, Lost, Arrested Development, The Walking Dead,_ **and** _Game of Thrones_. This binge led to a bit of fat hanging around stomachs where it had never been before and Dean decided to expand their activities. Just a bit. Just to include a bit of physical activity.

First, Nerf guns were purchased. No clues on who had done the purchasing. One morning three brand new, orange guns with more darts than three grown men would ever know what to do with showed up on the kitchen table. It quickly became a game. Who would take who down first? And they got damn creative. Sam found crevices to hide in that no one even knew existed. He would pop out of nowhere, land two (surprisingly painful) shots on Dean or Cas, then saunter away without a word. Sometimes he whistled. Those were the times when Dean really wanted to pummel him. Instead he moved on to activities he might actually win.

They found a pool table in a closed up room a few days later. This pool table led to what no one, despite Dean's insistences, would ever refer to as "The Great Winchester Billiard Tournament of 2014". He also tried to make this an annual event. After two showdowns that lasted until sun crested in the East, and ended with a sprained finger and three broken pool cues, the annual tradition was quietly shut down.

It was in the ping pong table that Cas found his salvation. Something he was good at. _Great_ at, actually. After their experiences with _Forrest Gump_, Cas's interest had been piqued. Now it had him by the balls. Pun intended. He was faster than Sam and Dean together, and hyper-focused. The ping pong table was moved to the main living area for easy access after only two days.

Sam was out buying groceries on one particular afternoon (they later found out he was also picking up a Wii system for Christmas) while Dean and Cas played. Cas went easy, letting them get into a rhythm, the small ball making that annoying _pop echo_ noise every time it smacked the table. They had been going for a good ten minutes (Dean's personal record) when Dean hit the ball and it bounced right off the table, past Cas's paddle, and under an overstuffed chair. Dean's mouth fell open.

"Cas?" he asked. Instead of answering, Cas lowered his paddle to stare at it, running a hand over the rough, red surface.

"I have been thinking," he said. Dean stared at him incredulously. The shift had been so sudden and unusual. It shouldn't throw him off, not when Cas had a habit of suddenly getting serious, but it still knocked off his equilibrium sometimes.  
"And what was it you have been thinking about?" Dean asked, laughter tinging his voice.

"I was thinking perhaps I should leave," he said. Dean's paddle dropped from his hand before he could have spared a thought.

"Leave?" It was a whisper. Cas furrowed his brows and nodded.

"Yes, leave. Perhaps it would be for the best." And maybe a few months ago Dean would have left it at just that. He might have let Cas walk right out the door and drunk until his veins pumped vodka instead of blood. But after this much time? After so many weeks of falling in love with a different side of Cas? After learning to let himself be happy with small things like breakfast for dinner and the 'next episode' button on netflix and Cas sometimes coming to the kitchen in the morning with his T-shirts on backwards? No, this version of himself wasn't ready to just let go.

"Why?" This time it was a barked yell, which startled Cas into looking at him. "Why do you want to leave, exactly? You done experimenting with living with us mud monkeys? Need something more sophisticated in your life?" Cas's eyebrows drew together.

"No," he said. "No, of course not. How could you think that way about me?"

"How could you think about leaving?!"

"With me here," Cas began, after a few beats of silence, "it seems you and Sam cater to a different lifestyle. You lock yourselves in and tread eggshells to allow me to live a calm life. I no longer want to be a burden neither you nor Sam ever asked for." Dean felt like laughing. So that's exactly what he did. Long and hard, laughing until he had to lean over and catch his breath. He moved around the table and stood directly in front of Cas, who was looking at him like he was insane.

"Cas, I have never been happier in my entire life," he said.

"Because I am leaving?"

"No!" Dean wanted to smack him. He sighed instead. "I have never enjoyed my life more than I have since you came here. I can't get enough of this, of spending time with you, of having fun with light this place up! We get to live now. For real. You aren't a burden. And Sam would say the exact same thing."

"I would say what?" Sam sauntered into the room, shooting a dart each at Dean and then Cas, catching them both in the middle of their chests. Dean swore.

"I was saying you don't think Cas is a burden, but now your opinion doesn't mean shit because you're gonna be a dead man." Sam grinned.

"Nah, you don't have the balls to kill me." He turned to Cas. "And why the hell would I think you were a burden? Oh, I grabbed some ground beef at the store so we can do burgers tonight. Cool?" He leaned down, picked up both of his blue darks, and walked back out of the room without an answer. Hell, he had known the answer before he walked in. Of course burgers were cool. They were fucking awesome. Go burgers. Dean wanted a foam finger that said that.

"Smug bastard," Dean muttered. He shook his head. "So, I don't want to hear one more word about leaving. Ever. Can we get back to the game now? I actually got a point for once." Cas smiled slowly and leaned over to give Dean a peck on the lips, soft as silk.

"I love you," he said. Dean grinned.

"I know."


	8. Black Water

_"__The siren called beyond the treeline_

_With another one for the caves_

_And in the tarn beyond those birches_

_There's a spirit that I crave."_

**_-Black Water, Timber Timbre_**

The nighttime here is only slightly darker than the day, a pervading fog that always hangs around dimming just enough to mark the passing time. Evil lurks behind the trees, red eyes only a bend of branches away. A broken stick means a creature out for blood.

The sky looks like oil swirling in water, unnatural and ponderously wrong. Every tree seems impossibly old and all wood crackles like it has been burnt. Mostly, the world is ash. Ash that covers the ground, bush, tree, and cloud. It is oppressive to breath and sight, dirty and dry.

So sometimes, when the night approaches with that inescapable darkening, they rest. Find blackened husks that were once tree trunks, and sit up, alert. Sometimes sleep can be found, but it is difficult to rest deep enough for the closed eyes to have had a purpose at all. Not when you are lying on a bed of broken bones and ancient gore. So most of the time Dean sits up with Cas. Benny sits slightly away from them, leaning over in a way that somehow conveys both tension and nonchalance at the same time.

When the night reaches its darkest, when a thousand fires and the reaching glow of God himself couldn't throw a light across the landscape, Dean takes Cas's hand in his own and squeezes it tight. Not because he is afraid, or worries that Cas might be. There is something calming about reaffirming there is a person sat beside you in the blackest reaches of a place beyond hell.

When wolves lurk around every corner and vampires threaten to drop from trees, when shifters might, at any moment, rise from the ashy leaves of the floor or a siren slink into view, a solid grasp of fingers might be all you need to survive.

Sure, that might sound like sappy bullshit, but when you're past the pits of hell, you have to start trusting the small things. A little glimmer of something bright to help survive the maw of tormenting blackness that eats up everything else.

Hope, in the clasp of calloused hands.


	9. Love Is Easy

_"__If this is love, then love is easy,_

_It's the easiest thing to do._

_If this is love, then love completes me,_

_'__Cause it feels like I've been missing you."_

**_-Love Is Easy, McFly_**

Every morning is beautiful. How could it not be, waking up next to Cas? Every morning Dean pulls himself out of sleep first, waking wrapped in Cas's octopus arms and entangled in his legs. Every morning he gets to turn over in bed, pull Cas close to him, and wake him with kisses as soft as a sunny day.

Cas wakes more gradually. Every morning Dean gets to watch him come to life, slowly opening those brilliant, blue eyes. He gets to hear a groggy, "good morning, Dean," and he gets to nuzzle a little closer, gets to feel Cas holding him a little tighter, and mutter back, "morning, beautiful."

Cas never complains about being woken up. For a while they get to lay in each other's arms in the dark. Then, together, they get out of bed. They put on ragged sweatpants and patter barefoot to the kitchen. Dean's morning vision is fuzzy so he sometimes stumbles, leaning on Cas to right him. Cas's hair sticks up at every angle and they both know neither of them will bother fixing it.

Together they bring the coffee maker to life with whatever gourmet blend Cas has chosen on their last shopping trip. Today the kitchen smells like light vanilla. Cas puts out plates and mugs while Dean beats together batter for pancakes. They work side by side at the griddle.

Some mornings, Cas whistles. Little tunes he has picked up. Songs from Dean or the radio or even the record player in the study. On special days, Dean loops his arms around Cas, hugging him from behind, and sways them to Cas's music. Cas will smile softly and whistle more loudly. Dean will sometimes hum along.

Every morning in the kitchen smells bright. They bump hips when they pass, or leave light touches on one another's arms as they move around. It's a delicate dance neither needs to practice because it is all so natural. And sometimes they dance for real.

Cas will hum a tune and Dean will catch sight of him, mussed up hair, crumpled bedclothes, and a drowsy, early morning smile on his lips and he will fall in love all over again until it consumes him. He'll grab Cas's arm, join in with his own whistling tune, and twirl Cas around until they are chest to chest. Cas's smile will grow exponentially while they move lightly around the kitchen, dancing around small obstacles. They will laugh and smile and Cas will dip Dean until he is almost to the floor before he pulls him up and plants a long his on his lips, morning breath be damned.

Morning stubble will rub against cheeks until the kiss dissolves into giggles and slightly stinging lips. Together they will go back to their room, arms around each other's waists as they walk. And every day is better because, with such a perfect morning, how could it not be?


	10. Of Space And Time

_"__On this desolate road, well I tend to forget_

_About you and I._

_And I'll fight to survive through this thunderous life_

_When we're not side by side."_

**_-Of Space and Time, City and Colour_**

The darkened road stretches out in front of Dean like a blank slate of endless possibilities. It could take them anywhere. A turn here, a turn there, and a whole new array of destinations arise. Here, driving, he is in control of his fate. He loves driving at night. The solitude of it becomes peaceful rather than lonely. He plays soft rock at a barely-there volume and stares out in front of him, car driving smooth on the blacktop.

The stars above shine bright, more pronounced out here in the middle of nowhere than when Dean drives through a city. He likes the way their shine reflects off the top of the Impala and off little puddles along the road that mark the presence of rain not long ago.

In the backseat, Sam is sprawled out, dead to the world. Dean doesn't know how he manages it with those gangly legs, but Sam can sprawl and sleep on that padded leather like nowhere else on earth. Maybe because he'd been raised sleeping in this exact car on long drives from hunt to hunt. Wouldn't surprise Dean a bit. This car had been their home more than anywhere else, whether or not Sam would ever willingly admit that out loud.

They drive over a bump and Dean stiffens, waiting for one of his passengers to wake up. They don't. Not that Dean would have minded. He would have grinned, made the same smartass beauty sleep comment he always did, and then laughed so hard at himself anyone else still asleep in the car would have been abruptly awoken.

But the bump goes over smoothly, all irony in the world collapsing on that single descriptive phrase. Sam just sniffs loudly, groans a few unintelligible words, and rolls slightly. His left side is now squashed against the seat in a way that will leave huge crease marks on his face, which Dean is eager to tease him about. He also drools slightly and Dean rolls his eyes into the mirror and ignores it the way he always does where a sleeping Sam is concerned.

In the passenger seat, Cas does not shift at all to indicate he felt the bumpy road beneath the Impala's steady wheels. His face is turned from Dean slightly, leaning against the cool pane of the window. Every time he breathes out the glass fogs up and fades away again, confirming for Dean that the guy is actually alive and and just sleeping, not dead. The mix up is easy where Cas is concerned. He sleeps like it's a competition and those damn people in comas aren't going to take away his shot at first place.

At the same time, these are the moments when Cas is at his most vulnerable. Not that he spills secrets in his sleep or wanders up to tall places and teeters near the edge like he's some whack job on Ambien. He just looks so absolutely human asleep.

Awake, there's still a distant gleam of something bigger, of awe-inspiring, ground-shaking power, deep in his blue eyes. It lurks, but it is ever present. Just a symbol that the soldier of god is still in there. Asleep, Cas is a guy in Dean's old jeans, a worn green henley, and a thick jacket which sometimes doubles as a pillow. His hair gets mashed up on one side and it stays that way for hours. His eyes twitch when he dreams and his fingers sometimes reach out, desperate for safety in a touch.

For now, he is just slumped. One hand is up behind his head, an attempt at making his position comfortable, while the other lies flat across his stomach. His heavy boots have been toed off and tucked under the dashboard so his sock-clad toes curl and uncurl at the steady stream of heat Dean has blowing on them.

Dean thinks maybe Cas dreams of flying at night, because his face will pull back and then relax, a smile curling gently into place, and then he'll lean his head forward like a dog having his face blown back by the wind on a drive. Dean wishes he could capture that moment, that exquisite expression of relief and happiness, and have it saved somewhere forever where no one but him could ever look at it.

Instead he glances at his fallen angel once or twice every couple of minutes to just soak up what he can. He hopes if he stares enough the world will freeze-frame around them and he can just exist staring at Cas that way until the lights in the sky go out for good and the universe disappears around them. Cas's eyes will open slowly. He will look at Dean, a flicker of that content smile will pass over his lips, and Dean will smile back and that can be the end of it all.

Thoughts like these are what keep Dean driving. He drives through the whole night musing on the idea of him and Cas going out like candles, gone for good, smiling at each other. He thinks that would be his ideal way to go, when the day comes. Much better than going out in a blaze of glory, Borormir style, with bullets riddling him like tissue paper, the way he had always imagined before. Before Cas.

Beside him, Cas shifts in sleep and his eyes blink open.

"Ah, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Dean says. "Feel pretty enough yet?" Cas rolls his eyes and smiles, sitting up with a yawn as Dean laughs, long and hard, jolting Sam awake in the backseat. He smacks Dean's headrest goodnaturedly and Dean smirks, still looking at the road out in front of him, just hoping it takes them someplace great.


End file.
